Chapter 6
6
DEAN
I didn’t like the way Portia looked when she left. She walked out of my shop with her shoulders too stiff and a blank expression on her face. She was trying too hard to look like she didn’t care. It didn’t sit right with me.
Seth’s friends were jackasses—always had been—but I hadn’t put together that some of them were the same ones who’d left her stranded on that island years ago. I should’ve shut them down harder. I should’ve kicked them out the second they walked in.
But I didn’t, and now Portia was gone, and the memory of her walking out with that tight, forced smile was stuck in my head like a splinter I couldn’t dig out. We had actually been getting along before Seth and his dickhead friends showed up.
“What was she doing here?” Seth asked.
“Take a wild guess,” I growled, not wanting to deal with his shit.
He laughed. “Don’t tell me the date was hanging out in your shop.”
“The auction people didn’t specify what we had to do with our time together. And it wasn’t a date.”
“She looked like she thought it was a date.” He grinned. “You’re going to tell me you didn’t want to hit that?”
“I’m itching to hit something. Don’t talk about her like that.”
Seth looked surprised, but the smirk on his face didn’t fade. “Come on, Dean. You’re not going soft on me, are you? Portia Watson? Really? She’s just another girl who couldn’t hack it in the real world and came crawling back. She’s not your type. You need a bleached blonde with giant fake titties hanging off the back of your bike.”
“I don’t like fake tits.”
Seth shrugged. “Real ones just get saggy. Unless you find a new girl every time the last one gets too old.”
I took a step toward him, my jaw clenched. “We were raised in the same house with the same parents. How did you turn out to be so gross, man? Seriously, you don’t know a damn thing about my type. And you don’t know a damn thing about her. So quit running your mouth before you really start pissing me off.”
Seth chuckled, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He knew I wasn’t bluffing. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it. But don’t act like you’re not interested. I saw the way you were looking at her.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Because he was right—and that pissed me off more than anything. I had been looking at her. I’d been watching her the whole damn night, trying to figure her out. She was different from what I remembered. Stronger, sharper, but there was something fragile underneath all that fire. Something that made me want to step in when those idiots started in on her.
“Why don’t you take your little party somewhere else?” I told him. “I’ve got work to do, and quite frankly, your friends are about as fun as a torque wrench to the testicles.”
Seth chuckled. “That woman already has you wrapped around her pinky.”
“You think you’re funny? You’re not. You’re just fucking annoying me. So take your jokes, take your friends, and get the hell out of my shop. I don’t have the patience for your crap tonight.”
He blinked, caught off guard. “Jesus, Dean. It was just a joke?—”
“I don’t care what it was,” I cut him off, my voice sharp enough to slice through steel. “Out. Now.”
For a second, he looked like he might argue, but then he must’ve seen something in my eyes—something that told him I wasn’t bluffing. He raised his hands in surrender, that cocky grin finally fading. “Alright, alright. I’m going. Chill out, man.”
He turned to his friends, jerking his head toward the door. “Let’s bounce. Big brother’s in one of his moods.”
The group shuffled out, still ribbing each other and tossing jokes around, but I barely registered them. I grabbed a rag off the counter and started wiping down my tools, more to keep my hands busy than anything else.
My mind kept circling back to Portia. She hadn’t backed down from any of it, but I could tell it had gotten to her. I knew what it was like to have everyone judging you. Poking fun at you. Talking shit because they thought it was hilarious.
But it was none of my business.
My hands kept moving as I put tools back in the right spots, but my mind wasn’t on the work. It was stuck on her—Portia. The way she’d looked at me when I’d stepped in, the way she’d held her ground even when Seth and his idiots started running their mouths. She probably didn’t need me to defend her but I’d done it anyway. That was the right thing to do. I didn’t understand how my brother and I had turned out so differently. I swear my mother must have dropped him on his head or something.
This was exactly why I didn’t get involved. People were complicated. Emotions were messy. And Portia Watson? She was a damn hurricane wrapped in a hot body. She was the kind of woman the blew in and decimated everything in her wake. She’d get under my skin if I let her. I couldn’t afford that. Not again.
Not after last time. Women were poison. They were tolerable in tiny doses and served a purpose, but no way in hell was I ever letting someone into my life again.
Fuck that.
By the time I locked up the shop and headed home, the sun had long since set. The typical muggy feeling and eight million mosquitoes swarmed me as I walked to my place. I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings—I was too busy trying to convince myself that I didn’t care about Portia or what had happened earlier—but then I caught sight of movement near the lake.
It was her. Portia.
She was walking alone. She had changed out of the dress and was wearing a pair of shorts and sandals. A tiny tank top rose just above her waistline. The moonlight caught in her hair, turning it silver, and for a moment, I just stood there, watching her. She paused at the edge of the lake, her gaze fixed on the small island in the center, out in the distance. It looked ominous in the dark, just a shadowy mass of trees and shoreline, but I knew what it meant to her. I remembered that night, even if I hadn’t been there. Everyone in town did.
I didn’t call out to her. I didn’t say a word. I just stood there, watching as she stared out at the water, lost in thought.
Judging by the expression on her face, I suspected she was thinking about her life choices and how she ended up back here. I often did the same thing. Usually, I just stared out at the water, but I knew her gaze was on that island. I knew she was thinking back to that night and hating the fact she was here again.
I forced myself to keep walking. It wasn’t my business. I didn’t care. Portia wasn’t my problem.
The problem was me—I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
I walked up the gravel driveway to my place. The large house loomed ahead, dark and quiet, just the way I liked it. I didn’t bother flipping on the lights as I stepped inside. I didn’t need them. I knew every inch of the place by heart.
The bottle of whiskey was where I always left it, on the counter next to the sink. I grabbed a glass, poured myself a drink, and carried it to the living room. I didn’t sit. I just stood there, staring out the window into the night.
The lake stretched out in front of me, its surface calm and glassy under the moonlight. Portia was still there. She hadn’t moved far from where I’d seen her earlier. She was still at the edge of the water, her arms crossed like she was holding herself together. The breeze caught her hair, and even from this distance, I could see the way her shoulders slumped, like the weight of the world was pressing down on her.
I took a sip of the whiskey, letting the burn distract me for a second. It didn’t work. My eyes stayed locked on her, no matter how much I told myself to look away. She wasn’t my business. But damn if she didn’t have a way of pulling me in, even when I didn’t want to be pulled. I was probably just feeling guilty for letting my brother and his friends hassle her.
She turned then, like she could feel me watching her. Her gaze drifted up to where I was standing. I knew she couldn’t see me, but maybe she could sense me watching. Either way, she turned and walked to the rental house.
I finished my whiskey and headed for bed.
The next day, the damn auction article was everywhere. One of the hundreds of pictures that had been taken of us at the event was plastered on the front page. It couldn’t have been a worse picture, which I had a feeling was the intention. It was Portia and me, standing awkwardly on stage, her looking like she’d rather be anywhere else and me looking like I wanted to bolt. The headline was ridiculous: Local Girl Returns Home… and Wins Herself a Jackson.
Ridiculous.
It was all anyone could talk about. I heard it at the gas station, at the diner, even from a couple of guys who stopped by the shop to pick up parts. Everyone had an opinion, and none of them were subtle about it.
I was busy working on a carburetor that was acting up when Seth walked in.
He had that stupid grin on his face. “Making headlines again,” he said.
“Does this town have nothing better to talk about?” I shook my head.
“What’s the deal with the two of you?” he asked.
“There’s no deal. Don’t believe everything you read online.”
“I don’t but I believe my own eyes. Portia was looking real cozy in here last night. Are you guys hooking up?”
I shot him a look. “You’re worse than the rest of the gossips in town.”
He held up his hands, still grinning. “Hey, I’m just saying. First me, now you. She must really like the family. She paid twenty grand for one night with you. That’s pretty impressive. At least I never charged her when we dated in high school.”
I turned back to the bike I was working on, my hands tightening around the wrench. Seth knew how to push my buttons, and he was doing it on purpose. He always did but he’d really been chapping my ass these last couple of days.
“You know, I heard she’s been through a lot,” Seth continued. “Coming back here after everything that happened in the city? It can’t be easy. Maybe she just needs someone to?—”
“Can you fuck off already?” I snapped, cutting him off. “I don’t care, Seth. Stop being a pain in my ass.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “You sure you don’t care? Because you’ve been staring at that bolt for the last five minutes, and I’m pretty sure it’s already tight.”
“You’re a dick,” I said. “You have no respect for women. For anyone.”
Seth’s grin faltered for a moment, but he recovered quickly, shrugging it off. “Respect? Come on, Dean. You’re the one who’s always saying people are a waste of time. But look at you now. Portia’s got you all twisted up and you can’t even admit it.”
“She doesn’t have me anything ,” I growled, slamming the wrench down on the workbench. “You, on the other hand, have me ready to pull my own hair out. I know you’re bored but maybe read a book or something.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll leave you to your brooding. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when she winds up breaking your heart.” He laughed and walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
And my thoughts, unfortunately, were still on Portia.
By evening, I was done. I’d spent the whole day trying to focus on work, but every time I thought I’d put her out of my mind, something would bring her back. The article. Seth’s stupid comments. The memory of her standing by the lake, looking so lost. Maybe she did have me all twisted up. Fuck that. I just needed to forget about her.
I locked up the shop and headed for home, thinking about the leftovers I was going to eat with the whiskey I planned on downing. On the way past the house she was in, I spotted her again. She was outside her rental, struggling with the screen door. It was hanging off its hinges, and she was trying to prop it up with one hand while holding a toolbox in the other. She looked frustrated, her hair falling out of its ponytail and her cheeks flushed from exertion. I told myself to keep walking. It wasn’t my problem. That had to be my new mantra: not my problem.
But before I could stop myself, I was walking up to the rental house.